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MK Kilmarnock
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Hate, hate, HATE!!!
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"Well, looks like it's a little late for that."

Jerry sat with his knees tucked half of the way to his chest, with his forearms resting just before the knee on each leg with his hands loosely bent inward. 'Pleased' was not one word to describe how he felt about Cass having caught up to be a spectator. Having said that, it was a pleasant relief to see that Cass's reaction to the big battle on the beach was less 'Brooklyn Rage' and more 'Seattle Melancholy'.

"Shit, man. This is just what I need." His nose was blocked up chock full of blood and snot and sand and seawater, and Jerry had the idea of looking tough by pressing his nose against the side of it while blowing. Upon approaching step one of this grandiose gesture that would make Steven Segal say 'woah buddy we got a badass up in here,' the center of Jerry's face erupted into several ripples of pain, like a white-hot finish nail had been driven through his septum. He pulled his hand away quicker than one could summarize Jerry's offense in the struggle prior to pulling his gun and vaulted to his feet.

He grunted before saying anything, wiping at his nose and upper lip with his wrist a few times. "Gun's all yours now, Matt," Jerry said bitingly. "It's out of bullets."

Perhaps it was the throbbing in his temples, but Jerry remained acutely aware of the threats his surrounding posed and, right now, Cass was number one on that list. The pistol he bamboozled Ass-ka out of had blown its load, but he still had his trusty switchblade. Something with longer reach would be a little helpful, but if Cass had something on 'em, Jerry would have to be careful in squeezing it out of them.

Unfortunately, Trav forced him to tip his hand there. Crapbaskets.
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